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So my ex contacted me yesterday to inform me that he is “finally ready” to return my shit to me. Finally ready? Did my stuff need to take classes on human development and learn about condoms or something? Oh, it’s ready. My stuff is SO HOT RIGHT NOW.

He’s had about half a dozen opportunities to return my stuff to me, but something has always come up to inconvenience him – like having to choose between returning my shit or having money to go out with the woman who replaced me. His life is SO HARD. So many challenges! No wonder it took him so long to be “ready.”

You would think, okay, so I’ve been pretty patient with him on this, but now he’s finally going to drop it off and we can exchange pleasantries and small talk about the weather and I can get my second-favorite bicycle plus a bunch of my books and life can move on.

But oh no! Because the ex is willing to drive 100 miles to bring me my stuff, but NO FURTHER. He actually had the audacity to ask if he could dump all of my stuff at my dad’s house. You continue to outdo yourself, asshole. Using my family as a middle-man – classy. You see, my ex makes SO MANY sacrifices and actually being man enough to face me makes his stigmata wounds hurt. (Between you and me – he wouldn’t be hung no matter how big the cross.)

So as a reminder of the size of the bullet I successfully dodged with this one, I present:

Pros and Cons of being dumped by a broke, overweight, middle-aged, habitual cheater who roller skates.

PROS

1. I can watch cartoons and play video games whenever I want, without ridicule!
2. I’m losing weight from not eating fried food constantly!
3. I don’t have to pretend to care about roller derby!
4. Three words: Big black cock
5. I’m allowed to care about stuff that I want to care about!
6. I’m permitted to defend myself when someone picks a fight with me!
7. No more gaslighting!
8. When I go on dates, I don’t have to pay for everything!
9. No more guilt trips for having emotions!
10. CATS!

CONS

1. Mediocre sex life.
2. See above.

So there you have it. Now you know – the next time you get dumped by a martyr, just think of all the shit you escaped!

(Note: I reckon it will take all of an hour for someone to show this to my ex, and he can threaten me with slander even though he doesn’t actually know what the word means, and people can tell me how mean I am. Blah blah blah. This is called humor. Satire, even. Satire is protected speech. There is obvious hyperbole in this, which should be the tipoff that it is satire. Sadly, because even college students are incapable of understanding when something is tongue in cheek, I have to stick this disclaimer down here and spell it out. SATIRE. SARCASM. HUMOR. Not to be interpreted literally.)